


Two Paper Airplanes Flying

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship/Love, Injury Recovery, Police Brutality, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vengeance is a complicated word, an emotion which motivates so many actions around the Clash of the Avengers. But not everyone chooses a team, not in the traditional sense. Sometimes, protecting a single person is more important than any other belief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Paper Airplanes Flying

**A/N:** So I saw [this post](http://those-celestial-bodies.tumblr.com/post/144895620354/apparently-there-were-plans-for-vision-to-turn-on) on Tumblr, and after taking the necessary moment to think about the potential of such a twist I decided it was a story that had to be written. And 19K later here is the finished product, so I hope this lovely fandom enjoys it :). Title taken from  _Out Of The Woods_ by Taylor Swift.

* * *

_**BREAKING NEWS: CAPTAIN STEVE ROGERS - CRIMINAL** _

_**SAM WILSON, AKA AVENGERS MEMBER THE FALCON, HAS BEEN ARRESTED** _

_**WINTER SOLDIER IN CUSTODY OF JOINT COUNTER TERRORIST CENTRE** _

_**NO COMMENT FROM TONY STARK OR COLONEL JAMES RHODES** _

The screen suddenly turns blank, the solemn faces of the newsreaders and the blazing banners calling her friends and teammates criminals vanishing, and Wanda leans back against the sofa, curling in on herself. Her world has turned upside-down in a matter of days - she's gone from one of Earth's mightiest heroes, being praised and revered and commended for her actions, to being feared, locked away in her own home while the people who have become her anchors divide over a piece of paper. Steve and Sam arrested, Rhodes the one reinforcing the law that labels them criminals, Natasha standing with Stark and Vision watching over her every move, settling on the couch next to her. She just wants to turn back time to before Lagos, before their mistakes, before the Accords, to when they were heroes and everything was so much easier. To press conferences, admiring at the ease with which Steve and Natasha fielded questions, smiling at Sam's charming way of bantering with the reporters, the calm authority of Rhodes answering anything on strategy or their right to choose their battles, the flash of cameras and the comfort of Vision with her even as security descended to protect them from the paparazzi.

"You mustn't watch that, Wanda," he says. "It will only upset you." She can't meet his eyes, a kind of fury still swelling inside her that he's sided with Stark and the removal of their freedom, jostling for space in her heart with the sadness that threatens to overtake her being like a flood.

"Is this what you wanted?" she spits, looking away, his presence so familiar and yet now strange, a different side to the man she thought she could rely on. "When you signed? Did you want to see Steve and Sam arrested?"

"I want people like us to be held accountable for the consequences of our actions," Vision says, and she wraps her arms around herself, her head knowing that such a condition is important but her heart screaming that the Accords and the control of the government are not the way to do it. "It is regrettable that Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson chose a course of action that has made them criminals. Mr. Stark didn't want this." A hand on her arm, familiar and comforting, and she chokes back the words that want to escape and folds herself smaller, resting her head on the arm of the couch and just breathing. "Would you like some tea? You shouldn't dwell on what's happening to them."

"I'd like to be alone," she says, and the grip on her arm tightens a little, protective, before the rustle of fabric and the slight creak of the floorboards and the soft snap of the door closing. When she is sure he isn't hovering, the tranquility of his mind far away, she turns the news on again, watching images of car chases and the circle of soldiers flicker past, her blood running cold and her hands shaking at the sight. If they have Steve and Sam, and Rhodes and Natasha on side, how long until they come for her? Who can she rely on to help her escape? Before she knew that she had been suddenly placed under house arrest, she could've believed that Vision would help her - now, she's not so sure anymore.

Her phone sounds quite suddenly, vibrating against the table over the reporter droning about Captain America's service record, making her start, staring warily at the device. Her chest clenches cold with fear, the thought that it's someone coming to take her, to try her as a murderer, to send her back to a home that collapsed a long time ago, away from the people she's come to know as a family. But it isn't - the message is short, and from a foreign number, reading _I want to tell you to sign the Accords before it's too late, but I know you won't change your mind on this. Let me talk to Tony - he's being irrational. You won't have to stay in the compound until this is over. I promise._

Her heart leaps unexpectedly at the knowledge that one of her teammates wants to help her, that Natasha is still striving to keep their team together, even though they're divided over the Accords - because it's true, she won't sign them. She believes in freedom for the heroes they are, no matter how the world judges them.

But she struggles to sleep at night, the compound so quiet with only Vision for company, patrolling the perimeter and looking for anyone approaching, friend or foe. She's used to the sounds of life, the quiet music, the low buzz of a television turned down low, footsteps and murmurs and doors opening and closing, a home filled with companionship. The silence invites fear, a childish phobia of the darkness that presses all around her, her mind spinning with memories of her first home collapsing, the crushing horror of captivity, the agony of experimentation, her brother dying, the screams of the wounded in Lagos.

And when her eyes finally fall closed and sleep takes her, she dreams of her teammates behind bars as she once was, dreams of a time when the Accords pass and they won't be able to do anything but watch innocent people die if the government doesn't consider it worth their time, dreams of men in masks taking her from her home for what she did. She is imprisoned again, bound in darkness, but without her brother to take comfort in, alone in blackness and trapped in her own mind, and she wakes up screaming and thrashing, tangled in the sheets.

When her mind stops spinning and her body settles into the room, reality replacing the dreamworld, she falls forward into the mattress, shuddering with gasping sobs, hardly sensing someone in the room until a hand is at her back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. She clings to Vision's presence, finding his mind soothing, holds onto him until her sobs turn to soft hiccups and she stops shaking with enough violence to move the mattress beneath her. He sits at her side, and she takes his hand and presses her overheated cheek into his cool skin, his palm curving exactly to match her face. "Don't leave," she breathes, and feels the bedsprings creak beneath her as he moves closer.

"I won't," he promises, and her eyes fall closed with the exquisite agony of such a promise made so easily. In her world, people do not make vows so easily, keeping secrets to their chests. Her parents used to make promises with such a weight, and she lost them. While they were being put through Strucker's experiments, the power of the sceptre agony in their blood, Pietro would whisper between their cells at night, promising he'd find a way for them to be free, promising they would take on the world together. Promises are made to be broken in the world she is part of.

The thoughts swirl in her mind, betraying her as she tries to stitch her pieces back together, and her breathing is growing harsh again, her eyes and throat burning with unshed tears, and as it all breaks out of her in a tearing rush of a sob she is lifted by familiar arms, clinging to the soft fabric of Vision's sweater as he floats them through the compound, lights humming to life as they move.

He's the only one of their team who's ever seen her cry like this, feeling like she's ripped open and her soul is exposed, everything she pushes into some shadowed, cobwebbed corner of her mind pouring out of her. Around other teammates, no matter how like family they are, she sheds delicate tears, head bowed - not like this, her face blotchy and her eyes swollen and her throat raw. Vision sets her down on the couch, and she slumps into the arm, hiding her face in a cushion, listening to the sounds of him moving around the room. The TV comes to life, tuned to some movie channel showing a bland romantic comedy, and the couch cushion dips slightly with his weight.

"Wanda?" His voice is soft, the way he speaks to her and her alone, and she lifts her head to meet his eyes, full of touching concern. Words catch in her throat like shards of glass, splintering beneath the weight of everything she's feeling, so much to be said lingering at the edge of their atmosphere, and she gulps sharply. He brings her water, gently tells her she should eat but doesn't push when she says no, and she leans into him as the movie plays, telling the generic story of two adults who seem to find playing mind games more appealing than being in love.

"This is ridiculous," she huffs after half an hour, and Vision turns to look at her, his fingers pausing in their continuous smoothing through her hair. "I don't understand why they can't just admit that they like each other and be happy. Life is hard enough without denying yourself being with someone you choose."

"I hardly think people in romantic comedies have lived lives as tumultuous as ours, Wanda," Vision replies dryly, and she gives in with a small smile. "In the end, they will both have their revelation and fall into each other's arms. It's how these films go."

"You need to stop watching TV at this time of night," she says softly, and embarrassment flickers in his eyes, making her let out a breath of a slight laugh. "Now shush, I want to see how they get together in the end."

As dawn stretches pale fingers over the horizon and the perfect couple on the screen before them finishes with their misunderstandings and falls together in a carefully choreographed embrace, the growing light finds her with her head on his chest, a kind of calm settling over her heart as the film slides into an upbeat pop song with the credits rolling. Drawn back to reality as names flicker across the screen, Wanda rights herself, blinking eyes suddenly itching with exhaustion, and turns to smile at Vision, the eye contact between them sparking something within her. He breathes in harshly, glancing away, and says, "You should go to bed. I will wake you if anything happens."

This time, as her eyes slip closed and sleep rolls over her like a wave, the nightmares seem to have been left behind in the dark. When she wakes, though she doesn't remember the exact happenings of her dreams, a small smile graces her lips and her mind lingers with golden light and happiness.

* * *

A particularly hard jolt of the van over a bump in the road jerks Wanda awake, her head smacking against the window with the movement, and for a moment she's scared, not sure where she is, feeling the tightness of the seatbelt over her chest and disorientated with the buzz of the radio station. But then she remembers - remembers the explosion near the compound, Clint showing up out of nowhere to take her away, forcing Vision through layers upon layers of earth and roaring down the road in this beat-up but, mercifully, inconspicuous van.

"My fault," Clint says, slowing down a little, his knuckles white with his grip on the steering wheel. His jaw is gritted, his eyes hard, and she knows what he's left behind to join this fight, remembers the days immediately following Sokovia when she stayed at the warm, messy, comforting farmhouse while people with more experience than her cleaned up their mess. He must believe, to have left his wife and children behind and fight with them. "Go back to sleep, we've still got an hour or so to go."

"I don't think I can," she says quietly, and presses her forehead against the cool glass, watching the scenery flashing past, mist rising from the road and the sky spitting rain.

"You did great back there, kid," Clint says, and she looks at him to see a slight smile adding a mischievous spark to his eyes, the set of his mouth softening a little. "I'm glad you're on Cap's side. Couldn't believe it when he called and told me Tony had you kept in the compound."

"He thought he was doing me a favour," she says bitterly. "Maybe he was right. At least it wasn't Stark watching me every hour of the day." Clint laughs, even though there's a hollowness behind it, but she can barely bring herself to smile.

They slow in traffic flooding in from a city, and Clint puts a soothing hand over hers, squeezing her fingers together gently. "You did what you had to," he says, and she bites at her lip, the guilt pressing at her throat. "Tasha once hurled me into a metal bar and kicked me in the head to undo brainwashing. Since all the weird shit we've had in the last few years started happening, fighting people we care about is an occupational hazard."

She stays silent, a long unbroken moment fraught with tension between them, and Clint breaks it with, "Or did I read the situation wrong? Tasha has sort of said a few things when I've been in touch, and I just thought..."

"Natasha is always right," she admits softly, and hears his sharp intake of breath. "We are all about to fight people we care about, if Steve and Stark choose to start a real war over this. I'm not the only one."

"I wouldn't say that anyone else in either team is in love with someone in the opposition, unless I've gotten incredibly out of the loop," Clint says, and her heart swoops uncomfortably to hear someone say it, words she's never said herself but knows are what lingers at the edge of every moment she's spent with Vision, growing over the last year into something spectacular and dangerous. "Who knows?"

"Just Natasha," she says, remembering the night just after Christmas, when they returned from a mission bruised and Natasha dragged out a bottle of expensive vodka and they sat on the roof in the cold and talked until the night began to fade. "I don't think anyone else even suspects."

"Yeah, we're not the best at noticing what's happening around us, especially since it's been a wild ride since Sokovia," Clint says, and she smiles faintly. Something about him is so reassuring, bracing and real and grounding after the whole world has turned upside-down in a matter of days. "Don't tell them. Paranoia's running so high at the moment you'll immediately be accused of working with the opposition."

"You're not going to say it?" she asks, and he looks at her with an expression of faint distaste, shaking his head, and she lets herself smile at him. The journey continues in silence, until Clint pulls to a stop in what appears to be a quiet suburban neighbourhood and dons a baseball cap and sunglasses, despite the fall of night during their journey, passing a similar disguise to Wanda.

"Don't get out of the car," he warns, and locks the doors as he steps out. She watches him walk up to the house, aware of the surroundings until he vanishes inside, and she hunches down in the seat, making herself small and invisible. If someone were to see her, someone who's been eagerly watching the coverage of the breakdown of the Avengers, anyone who knows what happened in Lagos, the military would be here, and she knows that the Avengers compound was a hundred times better than any prison.

Clint returns to the van with a dark-haired man carrying a small backpack, who climbs into the backseat, lies down and is immediately asleep, snoring softly as Clint starts up the engine again. "Next stop, Germany," he says, and they set off into the night.

* * *

The air feels electric with anticipation as Steve finishes the last presentation of their battle plan, dressed in his uniform, eyes hard and stance ready for war. Barnes is at his side, looking over their weaponry, checking and rechecking that everything is working and they have all the extra ammunition they need. Sam and Clint are still talking under their breath about the Accords, as Clint counts arrows and Sam checks the workings of his robot. Scott, frankly, seems unnervingly excited about the fight, routinely shrinking and growing at the press of the buttons on his gloves, leaving them all on edge every time he suddenly appears, distracting them all from their own thoughts.

Steve approaches Wanda where she's sitting on the floor of the van, knees tucked up to her chest and letting the tendrils of her power wind around her fingers, creeping over her palms and onto her wrists, seeming like vivid veins against her pale skin. "I'm sorry I didn't realise Tony was planning to put you under house arrest," he says.

"You were occupied," she says, shrugging the issue off, and she watches his gaze flicker to Barnes before it comes back to her, and he sets a hand on her knee, looking at her with such protectiveness in his eyes that she's reminded agonisingly of Pietro.

"I should've realised when the Accords came what he might do," he says. "But there was Peggy's funeral, and the bombing in Vienna, and then this all happened. But we shouldn't have left you there alone. If Natasha was here, she'd agree with me."

"It's alright, Captain," she says, because she knows the next step will be some long spiel about responsibility and being their leader and family, and the last few days have wrought emotional turmoil over her and she just doesn't want to talk about it. "Focus on the fight."

"I want you to stay back," he says sternly, and she nods. "Clint will be doing the same. If you can fight long-range, I don't want anyone in unnecessary harm's way." He stands away from her, beckoning to Sam and Barnes, and the three of them descend into whispering, leaving Wanda returning Clint's tight smile and watching the tiny flicker of movement as Scott leaps from the roof of the van to the roof of the car the other three travelled in.

Of course, the fight blows up immediately, the moment Stark even starts to speak and she senses the anger taking over Steve's mind, and the plan to find transport and get out collapses like a house of cards in the wind. She tries to stay close to Clint through the chaos, ducking a shot from Stark's suit and hearing the rush of Clint retaliating with an arrow. Sam is keeping Rhodes occupied in the sky, Barnes is fighting the Black Panther in a breath-taking display of hand-to-hand combat and Scott is somehow holding his own against Natasha. She tries to keep a handle on the thoughts of each combatant, past the red haze of the fight, to know where each person is and what they plan to do next, protecting her teammates and hurling both Black Panther and Natasha away from Barnes and Clint respectively as she comes across the fighting.

Coming up against Vision is a terrifying prospect, but she knows that she is the only one in the field who can even hope to win against him - Clint's attempt at the fight when he came to break her out of the compound only reinforces that. They face each other for a moment, the fight seeming to fade around them despite the shouting and the sound of gunfire, and the silence is deafening until Steve's voice comes from her left, strained as he fights off Spiderman, yelling, "Wanda, engage Vision for Christ's sake, stop him from killing us all!"

Clint's bellow over the fight is some indistinguishable words, and Wanda lets her power lift her from the ground, until she's hovering at Vision's height, and she doesn't speak as she fires a ball of red energy at him, sending him spinning through the sky, Stark roaring something about 'actually putting some goddamn effort into the fight.' She turns away then, stopping a piece of debris from crushing Natasha with a flick of her fingers - she still feels close to the woman despite their opposing sides - and rushing to distract Rhodes as he threatens to get in the perfect position to take Sam down.

Stark comes after her as Rhodes curses loudly and dives towards the ground conflicts, hovering above her with his suit humming as seemingly every weapon it possesses aims at her. "Why couldn't you just stay in the compound?" he asks, voice strange through the mask, and she just stares him down, raising her hands and letting the power build, an explosion rising to the surface beneath her skin.

"You kept me prisoner in my own home," she spits, and shoots a ball of energy at him that he dodges. Her teammates' minds are far away, fighting their own battles with other people opposing them - Clint is back to Natasha, mercifully no longer pulling his punches; Steve is occupied with protecting Barnes from Black Panther's relentless fight, as Barnes fends off Spiderman; Sam is soaring high over their battleground, keeping anyone from getting hit by shrapnel; and Scott, enormous with some amazing function of his suit, is thoroughly engaging Rhodes - and she wouldn't rely on them for help anyway. She and Pietro spent years in captivity dreaming of the day they would fight Stark, and now she faces him down.

"To protect the people!" he says, and she scoffs. It doesn't hurt the way it does when people say it the world over, not coming from him.

"I'm only dangerous to my enemies." She shoots another sphere, and again he moves, rising into the sky, and she kicks at the ground and follows him, testing the limits of how high she can rise, red mists gathering beneath her feet like a platform. Her power gathers in her fingertips, but Stark is faster, and a jet of heat crashes into her side with agonising force, making her scream involuntarily, distracting her for long enough that her concentration slips and she falls, unsure of what he even hit her with, whether she's bleeding or just bruised.

Several minds register at once that she's been hurt, and by the time she hits the ground she can already sense both Clint and Steve trying to end their fights, to incapacitate their attackers for long enough to help her. Every inch of her hurts, and she has the distinct feeling that something might be broken, and her vision is slightly blurred with the impact of the fall as she sees Stark flying closer to her, an arm outstretched for what might be a fatal blow.

But the shout of, "No!" isn't one of those whose side she's taken, but sounds like Rhodes, and a hand rips through Stark's armour easily as paper, and his mind registers nothing but shock when she reaches out for the tendrils of his thoughts, the anger fading. Vision flies above her, his face set in a terrifying mask of hatred, a jet of light from the gem destroying the reactor at the centre of Stark's suit, and he tosses Stark aside like a piece of trash.

The sound of him hitting the ground rings through the battle, stilling everyone, but Vision comes to her, helping her sit up, such concern in his eyes that it has her breath turning ragged for reasons more than the wound in her side and the screaming pain of what she's sure is at least one broken rib. "Are you alright?" he asks, voice comparatively gentle to what she just saw, pressing a hand to her injured side.

His fingers leave her skin bloody, and the anger that flares in his eyes sends a cold through her heart - she's never seen him like this, with this uncontrolled fury. "Vizh, why did you attack him?" she asks, her voice unexpectedly calm in the heat of the moment.

"If I hadn't, he would have killed you," Vision says, and presses a hand to her cheek, and she looks up into his eyes and the world falls away, leaving just them. "I couldn't let that happen."

Then he flies away from her her, dragged by the string of silk gleaming in the light as Spiderman soars above them, shouting something incomprehensible, and she shoots energy at the web to snap it, sending the child flying into the side of the building. Sam's voice crashes in her ear, making her earpiece whine with static, shouting, "Stand down, Cap and Bucky are clear! Stand down!"

And she does, because she is a hero, no matter what the world thinks. The battle is not at this airport, but further afield, and when the military men come for them she stands with Sam and Scott and Clint, as Rhodes and Black Panther and Spiderman watch them forced into handcuffs. "Him too," Rhodes spits, eyes hard with anger, and they follow his gaze to Vision, waiting quietly outside of the circle of soldiers with guns trained firmly on the team she's chosen.

Wanda's handcuffs burst suddenly in a blaze of red, and Sam and Clint quickly duck as several soldiers go flying off their feet in the burst that rushes from her hands, helpless to her anger. "Stand down!" comes the order, but she won't, she won't raise her hands and surrender and let them all be punished in whatever way the government trying to control them sees fit, particularly not Vision. Not the man who has saved her life in almost every battle they've fought together, the man who's become her closest friend and the one she trusts enough to expose her heart to, the man she loves. "Stand down, final warning!"

"Wanda," comes Clint's voice, soft and soothing but tinged with warning, but she sees nothing but red, and then there's a bang and her body erupts with pain, electricity rushing through her muscles and making her writhe, collapsing to the concrete. She hears Sam yelling, the dull sound of a punch, the scream of sirens, and then blackness rolls over her and she passes out.

* * *

When she wakes, she's bound tightly to a seat, the vehicle jolting beneath her, and Clint is sitting opposite her, guarded by a masked soldier, the ache in his eyes calming a little when she meets his gaze. "So we got arrested," he says, resigned. "And you also injured five soldiers."

"Nice job," Scott says from his corner of their portable cell, and the soldier watching him jams a gun violently into his side. "Okay, Jesus, I was just kidding."

When she tries to move, agony laces through her, and she sees Sam's gaze snap to her side, where her shirt is stiff with blood, and he raises a hand - apparently she's the only one of them so heavily restrained - for the attention of their guards. A gun is pointed at him, a voice emerging from under the mask. "Don't threaten me, Wilson."

"She got shot, she needs medical attention," Sam says, his voice exaggeratedly calm, and she sees the way he's holding his hand, nursing several broken fingers. "Matter of fact, we could all use a hospital visit."

"You'll be looked at when we get to the Raft," a soldier says with a dark chuckle. "You really think we'd stop for criminals like you?"

"What if she bleeds out?! Are you just going to let her die?!" Scott shouts, and is hit with a taser blast, jerking in his seat and then rubbing at his side, scowling.

"Wait, the Raft?" Clint says, turning an expression of slowly emerging horror to their guards. "As in the maximum security underwater prison created for the housing of supervillains? _That's_ where we're being taken?" One soldier nods, and Clint slumps against the seat, eyes hollow.

"Where's Vizh?" Wanda's voice is weak with her injuries, but her resolve is strong, as every head in the van turns to look at her. "Where is he?"

"Young love is sweet," one soldier says, his tone mocking. "Your boyfriend's in another van, witch. Alone. Colonel Rhodes thought he'd tear us apart, but the second we hit you he was cooperative. Funny, that. Tell me, how does it feel to know that Tony Stark is out there clinging to life because some robot malfunctioned and protected you?"

"He's not a robot," she says faintly, wondering if there's any truth to what the soldier says, if Stark is out there in a hospital bed.

"She's right," Scott says. "Asimov's first law of robotics states that a robot cannot cause harm to a human being, so by that logic Vision can't be a robot- _ow_!" Another attack with the taser, and he falls silent, staring at the floor.

"He didn't malfunction," she says, so softly that none of their guards hear her. But Sam does, and nods to her across the van, a silent acknowledgement and confirmation of her belief. They've all saved each other's lives dozens of times - but to see someone turn on their own team to help an enemy means something much bigger than mere friendship.

The sky is dark with thunder when the doors to the van finally open, and what seems to be an endless number of soldiers are on them, armed with guns and tasers, forcing them out into the deluge that soaks them all instantly, cold rain sharp as needles against their skin. There seem to be people from every security agency in the world gathered to watch them forced into the heavily armoured craft waiting for them, and Agent Hill stands with Fury, watching them with a curious expression that appears a potent mix of anger, longing and professionalism on her face. "Maria!" Clint shouts over the pounding of the rain. "Call Laura for me! Please!"

She seems to wince, and a soldier shocks Clint, making him fall to his knees in the mud. "Agent Hill, you can't let this happen!" he croaks out, and she stares them down, eyes like fire.

"You should've thought of the consequences before you went rogue," she says, and turns her back. Fury watches them, though, as the soldiers march them into the aircraft, connecting the chains of their cuffs to bolts built into the walls, and none of them resist. When they're in this deep, there's no point to it. Clint looks so hopeless, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes tightly against reality, Sam's eyes are wounded and angry, Scott is muttering darkly to himself, fists clenched in his lap.

"When do we get our friend back?" Sam asks one of their guards during the journey, the hum of the engine almost louder than his voice. "Is Vision being taken to the Raft too?"

"You think we want to end up like Stark?" a guard scoffs. "That _thing_ is being kept separate from the girl until we have them locked down in the cells Senator Ross prepared for you people."

"You say that like we wouldn't all defend each other the same way," Scott snaps, eyes stormy with fury.

"How will you fight without your suit, Lang?" a guard snarls, the taser in their hand humming threateningly.

"Are you in love with the little witch too?" another taunts in a sing-song voice, and Scott snarls something incomprehensible at him.

"Stop," Wanda says, her voice soft, and the three men prisoner with her all turn to look at her, faces showing varying levels of concern. "Leave it, Scott." The journey passes in silence and suffering, bruises from the fight growing darker on their faces and the only sounds occasional pained hisses when anyone moves the wrong way and aggravates an untreated injury.

When they reach the Raft, a strange round building that emerges like a submarine from the water, bright with lights and crawling with soldiers, they're taken to the medical bay first. "We can't have prisoners dying here, have to give them a chance no matter what state they arrive in," the white-coated doctor says, seemingly oblivious to their anger. He moves around them quickly, smoothing salve onto the dark bruise covering most of the right side of Clint's face, stitching up a particularly nasty gash over Scott's eyebrow, taping up Sam's fingers, and he tuts as he examines Wanda, prying her blood-soaked clothes away from her side. "We'll have to put you under to look at that properly," he says, the texture of his rubber gloves uncomfortable against her skin, and she shakes her head. "We'll do it with the rest here. You know they'll protect you."

The mask is fitted over her face, and the hiss of the gas pumping through begins, and her eyelids feel heavy. She tries to keep her gaze on Sam and Scott and Clint, watching her closely, until the world fades to black. When she wakes, she's without them in another room, as small as a cell, a bright light above her and a suited man sitting opposite her, dark eyes striking fear into her. She can feel the tightness of stitches over the cut in her side, and she's wearing beige clothes, the uniform of a prisoner. Cuffs are wrapped around her wrists and ankles, the chains jingling when she moves.

"Ah, Miss Maximoff, you're awake," the man says, and she tries to make herself smaller, afraid. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm Agent Mayhew with SHIELD. I'm just here to ask you a few questions about the nature of your involvement with the Clash of the Avengers."

A slim file is removed from the leather briefcase and set on the metal table between them, and Mayhew rests his chin on his steepled fingers, eyes probing at her, seeking out the secrets behind her eyes. "What do you know about Captain Rogers' motivations for refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords?"

"He believes in freedom," she says, trying not to sound harsh, to be calm and collected despite the true horror of the situation she's in. "Not being controlled by a government he doesn't trust."

"And what can you tell us of your personal involvement with this battle?"

"I agree." Mayhew stares her down, and she hardens her resolve, hoping it shows in her eyes. He breaks eye contact first, writing something down and moving on.

"Can you offer SHIELD any intelligence on where Captain Rogers and the Winter Soldier have disappeared to?" he asks, and the surprise must show itself on her face. "They evaded border control and escaped every security agency in the world. Do you know where they were going?"

"No," she answers blandly, raising her chin defiantly. "Captain Rogers brought us in to fight because of his obligation to protect Barnes. He didn't tell us where he planned to go if the battle had gone our way."

"Are you lying to me, Miss Maximoff?" Mayhew asks, his eyes dark. "There will be severe consequences. Your fellow prisoners all said that they didn't know either. Ross may be willing to negotiate your sentence if you give him information that will help him find Rogers."

" _I don't know_ ," she says, forceful, and the flash of fear in Mayhew's eyes is darkly satisfying. He makes another note, and when he looks up again she hopes it might be over. Alas, his eyes remain steadily staring into hers, and he turns a page.

"Miss Maximoff, are you aware that Tony Stark, former Avenger, promoter of the Sokovia Accords and the leader of the team opposing Captain Rogers is currently in critical condition after his suit was torn to pieces by the being known to SHIELD as Vision?" Mayhew asks, and she refuses to let her gaze falter as she nods. "According to the account of the fight we were given by Colonel James Rhodes, your former teammate, the reason for Stark's many severe injuries can be attributed to his targeting of you and the Vision's subsequent reaction. What can you tell us about the battle from your perspective?"

"I had been told to fight long-range," she says, her words clipped and dull, a clinical account. "Stark targeted me. Vision stopped him from an attack that was probably meant to kill me. Sam called for us to stand down. The military arrived."

"And what exactly is the nature of your relationship with the Vision?" Mayhew asks, making her stomach clench and her fingers twitch at her sides. "Why would the Vision turn on Stark, specifically when you were his target?"

"We have fought together for a year, that's more than enough to feel protective of someone," she says, her word choice careful. "It was in the heat of the battle, anything could have happened. Perhaps if I had seen a member of my team aiming to kill Natasha, I might have acted in the same way." She's lying through her teeth, and the silence stretches out thinly, her heart beating so fast she's sure Mayhew can hear it, but he makes one more note and seems satisfied, and she lets out a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

"You can take her to the cells now," he calls, and the door opens to several soldiers, their faces hidden behind dark shields, and they drag her to her feet and set her to walking, the heavy chains dragging her down as they move through the prison. There's an unearthly silence set over the place, even in the bright lights, and she wonders vaguely how many inmates there are - if any of them will ever get out.

Another room, larger than the last, where twenty soldiers or more are watching Sam, Clint and Scott, their questionings clearly already finished. They're all tightly bound in handcuffs, looking sullen, but they look up when she's forced into a seat and gruffly told to wait. Clint mouths _Are you okay?_ to her and she shrugs helplessly. Sam mouths _Did you say anything?_ and she shakes her head, and there's a subtle relaxation to Sam's tensed shoulders. In the bright lights, their cuts and bruises are vivid and startling against their skin, the cuts on Sam's arms scarlet, the bruise stretching from Clint's chin to his temple seemingly growing darker by the minute, and their thoughts are wounded too, clouded and melancholy. A flash of a young girl's smile in Scott's mind, a laughing baby in Clint's, a moment of music and friendship in Sam's.

A familiar mind comes across her cautiously extended searching, calming like watching waves roll over a shore or clouds drift across the sky, and her heart leaps with a potent combination of hope and fear. It must show on her face, her eyes lighting up or the slightest hint of a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, because Sam sits up straighter, rigid, and Clint's eyes flicker to the door and back again several times. The door opens suddenly, a gruff voice barking, "That's the last one, get them to their floor," and Vision is unceremoniously forced into their small room, hands cuffed and eyes as emotionless as soldiers would expect from a man they believe to be machine.

"Vision," she breathes, a word caught in a sudden sob that jerks her shoulders, and the look in his eyes when he meets her gaze is enough to still the sun, passion and fear and anger and something she desperately, _desperately_ hopes is love. But at a single movement towards her he's pulled back by the heavy chain linking his hands, and her head is shaking violently back and forth, her eyes burning with the build of tears. " _Vizh_!"

Fire surges to her skin, red lashing around her arms, but the soldiers are prepared now, ignoring the howls of her teammates as they slam a taser into her side, knocking her out with the force of the shock that blows through her body. When she finally drags herself awake again, her eyelids swollen and tear stains dry on her cheeks, her whole being goes cold with fear as she finds herself unable to move, her fingers twitching but unable to move further, and a heavy weight on her chest, and her breathing restricted.

"You won't be using your powers in that, witch," a voice comes, and she looks up to see a soldier, standing beyond a screen, looking at her with a contemptuous smirk on his face. She's in a cell, then. A prisoner. "It's Stark tech. The man says he made it for your own safety, in case you ever lost control of your powers. Thank God Ross got it from him before he ended up in that hospital. Now it'll keep the whole world safe from you."

"This is inhumane!" comes a shout from Clint, and she hears the thud of hands thrown against the screens between them and their guards. The soldier simply rolls his eyes, and walks away, the door hissing shut behind him and leaving the five prisoners in their circle. Wanda is the only one heavily-restrained, the rest free to walk around their cells - but, for these men, it's like trapping a wild animal in a cage, their pacing relentless, every atom of them itching to be free.

Clint is still yelling, even though the soldiers are far away, and Sam's voice crashes with his in a crescendo of fury, and she watches them until their movements blur, and she feels like she's drowning. Lethargy invades her blood, and she doesn't do anything to stop it, staring blindly at the circular room as her limbs grow heavier. Even without the straitjacket binding her arms tight to her chest, she wouldn't be able to move even if she wanted to. The collar...Stark tech. He made it, Stark, he made it to keep her hostage if she ever lost control. She didn't lose control, but they're afraid, so they leave her like this.

The world swims in front of her eyes, a kaleidoscope of black and white and myriad shades of grey, and she can't speak, can't move, can barely _breathe_. And so she closes her eyes and hopes that, in dreams, she will be taken away.

* * *

Time is strange in the prison, rushing by like water after a swell of rain or crawling like the New York traffic in summertime. Days disappear, while minutes pass in painful increments of seconds. She sleeps fitfully, dreaming of gunshot wounds and metal twisting and melting in a rush of red and cracked earth and empty graves and eyes with galaxies behind them. Waking offers no solace, trapped by her bindings, gazing with empty eyes at the other four prisoners, her heart hollow. Clint always paces, talks to himself about his family. Sam sits against the screen, arms folded and eyebrows lowered in thought. Scott plays gentle rhythms on his legs, dull sounds of his hands spelling out nursery rhymes and pop songs. Vision sits so still he could be a statue, only the change in the direction of his gaze indicating that he's there at all.

Soldiers in dark masks, guns gleaming at their sides, bring them food twice a day, mediocre offerings on a metal tray, water included. She always has three guards, one to bring her food and unlock her chains, and one on each side of her as they allow her to eat by herself, her fingers shaking and lifting even the smallest item a chore. Every second day they're individually escorted to shower, limited to fifteen minutes, and every time she sits in the rush of water as two women help her clean up she wonders if she too could spiral down the plughole and escape. The routine of the Avengers compound - awoken by their alarms, a short bout of cardio work, breakfast as a team, training both individually and in groups - is replaced by that of prison.

It could have been years or mere days after they were chained up and put in their cells that the door hisses open in the middle of the day, making them all start at the unfamiliarity of it. Two soldiers enter the room, guns drawn, but a familiar voice cracks at the air like a whip with a sharp, "I don't need a protection detail." Despite obvious reservations, the two soldiers leave, and the door slides closed behind the familiar form of Natasha Romanoff. She looks smaller somehow, heavily shadowed with lack of sleep and a bruise not quite faded on the sharp line of her jaw, but her eyes are hard. She looks around at them all, and says, "Good morning."

"It's been fucking terrible," Clint says, voice rough, and Natasha gives the slightest smile. "How's life outside of a floating prison?"

"Messed up," Natasha says shortly. "Spiderkid went back to Queens before the media got hold of him, thank God, but I've been under lockdown in one of Fury's safehouses since the airport. He's given me a personal escort - new recruit, very enthusiastic. T'Challa's still lurking around, trying to control the publicity. Rhodes hasn't left the hospital."

"How is Tony?" Sam asks, leaning on the screen into his cell, and Natasha bites at her lip, her gaze sliding momentarily to Vision before she clears her throat.

"Not great," she admits, her words clipped and nervous. "He flatlined three times in the first twenty-four hours, not a great prognosis. Surgery to pull several pieces of his suit out of him. Pepper showed up, looking like death. When he's strong enough and taking fewer painkillers I think there'll be a very serious talk between them. But the hospital says he should pull through, probably the same man we all know." Her brows lower, her eyes darkening, and she says, "But I'm not here to talk about that."

A whine of static, and she turns to them, her hair moving like fire, and speaks urgently as she says, "I've knocked out their sound system, they can't hear what we're saying. I need to know where Steve and Bucky went after the airport."

"Why should we trust you?" Scott asks without a trace of his characteristic good humour, glaring at her from the floor of his cell. "You were on the other side."

"So was Vision, but he's locked up in here with you now, and that doesn't seem to be a problem," Natasha snaps, her eyes flashing. Then she breathes in, and explains, "I signed the Accords to keep the Avengers together, but that ship has sailed. Now I need to help Steve, because there's someone who framed Bucky in Vienna and wants to see us torn apart. Where did they go?"

A long silence, the tension stretching thin and fragile, then Sam finally says, "Siberia. They went to Siberia. They believe someone is planning to release the other winter soldiers from cryo and use them to take us all down." Natasha spits something in Russian, and turns on her heel to leave.

"Miss Romanoff." Vision's voice stalls her, and she turns to look at him, a flicker of fear in her eyes quickly tamped down. "Would you give my apologies to Colonel Rhodes?"

"He won't take it," Natasha replies simply, and looks around at them one last time before she leaves. Her skin seems to pale several shades when her eyes focus on Wanda for the first time since she arrived, and her eyes dart to the door, her fingers curling into fists. There's a notion that if she had immediate access to a gun, the wall would be riddled with bullets in a matter of seconds. "Christ, what the fuck have they done to her?"

"Don't know, exactly," Clint says, his voice strained, as if he's gritting his teeth. "I think that collar - which, apparently, was made by Tony in case Wanda ever lost control - is keeping her drugged enough that she can't do anything to get out of here. If we scream about it, they just laugh."

Another Russian curse, flying like fire from Natasha's lips, and she touches a hand to the screen between her and Wanda. She drags her eyes to meet Natasha's, cold as ice with fury but still gentle for her, but can't move to even acknowledge how it feels for that look to be directed at her, to see probably her second-closest friend on her former team looking at her like that. "I swear on my life I will get you out of here," Natasha says, every word like a gunshot in its force, then stands and sweeps out of the room, and when the door closes behind her it feels like a whisper of hope.

* * *

Further days pass, weeks, maybe months flashing by in the monochrome monotony of routine. They could be in here for years, and it would feel like it could've been hours or millennia since the soldiers threw them into their cells. "Natasha will come through for us," Clint repeats, his voice ragged with strain, pacing circles around his cell.

"Face it, Barton, no one's coming to save us," Scott says heavily. "All we can hope for is that maybe some human rights force means we have to be put on trial before we get thrown back in here, but since Cap is a fugitive I doubt he'll be able to vouch for us. We're stuck."

"Tasha always comes through," Clint insists, his knuckles white as he balls his hands into tight fists, his eyes dark. "She's never let me down."

A brush against her mind comes, and Wanda raises her head, heedless of the conversation happening between Sam and Scott and Clint, an argument growing in decibel and heat. She hasn't felt that presence in what feels like years, a goodness at the heart of it despite the added darkness, and the smallest hint of a smile teases at her mouth behind the gag. _Steve_.

An explosion echoes through the prison, silencing the three men immediately, and alarms begin to blare, beating against Wanda's ears and making her wish she could slap her hands over them like Scott does, blocking out the world. She wants to close her eyes against the red light, but her heart is light with hope, and she looks desperately at the door, trying to reach out, trying to remember how, to bring the power up from within her and feel it again.

Scott swears loudly as another explosion shatters the wall into their common area, dust rising from the splintered bricks. Silhouettes appear in the aftermath, two figures, and Steve and Natasha emerge from the chaos. Steve is wearing civilian clothes rather than his uniform, no shield in his hand and his face a mask of cuts and bruises, his nose crooked from a break, but he looks God-like in that moment, their saviour. Natasha brandishes a terrifying-looking weapon, fires at the bars of Clint's cell and the metal writhes into nothing but ash.

Clint scrambles out of the cell, and throws his arms around Natasha, burying his face in her shoulder, obviously shaking. "Thank God," he chokes out, and they tear themselves apart slowly, Natasha's face pale and her eyes sad.

"The US military send their regards," she says, and Steve hands Clint his quiver, half-full with arrows, and his bow, and Clint gives a tight smile. Scott is broken out next, scrambling into his suit with no regard for modesty, expression set with anger. Steve hugs Sam tightly when he releases him, the two men holding onto each other for a long minute, the only sound in the room breathing.

Wanda watches with desperate eyes as Steve shoots out the bars on her cell, face displaying nothing short of utter horror as he drops to her side, tugging a knife out of his boot and sawing at the straitjacket holding her arms in place. "I'm so sorry," he says, sounding on the verge of tears. "They'll pay for doing this to you." He keeps murmuring nonsensical comforts as he works through the tough fibres of her bindings, and when they finally fall away he takes her hands, squeezing the feeling back into her fingers.

"The collar is electrified," Scott says, his eyes familiar through the red of his mask as he comes to join Steve at her side. "I think if we try to break it off it'll just hurt her. Might even kill her." She lets out an involuntary whimper, and Steve squeezes her hand tighter. "I have an idea though." He reaches into a pocket on his belt, pulls out a small blue disc and touches it to the collar.

Immediately it grows, big enough that Steve can lift her out of it, and for the first time she can take a deep breath, the rush making her dizzy and irritating her throat. She leans on Steve for support as she coughs and gasps, and his eyes are wide with horror as he follows the lines of bruises around her throat, the small drop of blood leaking from the puncture wound from the needle that leaked the drugs into her system. The sound of gunshots breaks the stillness of the moment, and Clint nocks an arrow, incredulously asking, "You didn't take them all down?"

"Do you know how many guards there are in this prison?" Natasha asks, guns already in her hands. "Vision," she glances at the man who has remained silent through their break, guarded and uncertain, "get Wanda to the jet, she can't fight in that state. T'Challa and Bucky are waiting, they'll keep you safe."

Clint fires an arrow through the space where the wall was, and a choked-off cry lets them all know that the soldiers will be on them in seconds. "Go!" he shouts, shooting three arrows in quick succession, and running into the chaos, followed by a jubilantly yelling Scott who remains full-sized for a second then disappears in a click of a button.

Vision approaches Wanda, still holding onto Steve, with guarded eyes and a caution to his movements. The two men stare at each other, the air prickling with tension, and Steve finally breaks the silence. "Keep her safe," he says, and is gone, following Natasha and Sam into the fight. Wanda stands unsteady on her feet, whatever potent cocktail of drugs they were injecting into her lingering in her blood, and Vision takes her firmly in his arms, lifting her off the ground, a solid presence for her to lean on.

His touch feels like another shock to her, and meeting his gaze unlocks something in her mind, tears burning behind her eyes. He rises in the air, high enough to avoid the fighting between their team and the soldiers beneath them, the sound of gunshots and punches fading as she drifts in her own thoughts, red with pain and black with fear. Reality seems to fade and brighten by turns, shimmering like a haze of summer around her, but the gruff shouting brings her to her own mind, a dark jet gleaming in the prison hangar, and T'Challa waiting in the open doorway, wearing the Black Panther suit but without his mask. A man, not a warrior.

Inside, there are enough seats for all of them, the interior exactly what would be expected from a king, and Vision gives a courteous nod and a, "Your Highness," as T'Challa stands aside to let them in, his eyes searching for enemies following them. Through heavy eyes, glazed with exhaustion, Wanda sees that Barnes is in the jet too, by the controls, and rushes with a lopsided gait to her side, swearing in some language she can't quite make out.

"How long will it take to reach Wakanda?" Barnes asks, turning to T'Challa, whose eyes reflect some portion of concern too.

"Around fifteen hours," he answers, his voice soothing despite the strain of their current situation. "I will contact our medical centre and tell them to prepare for our arrival. Is there anything you may be able to treat while we travel?"

"I'll take a look," Barnes says roughly, and his eyes are above Wanda's, seeming to grow and fill her whole world. A dark bruise surrounds one, there's blood in his hair and several of his teeth are chipped. "Vision, go back, help the rest get out."

She shakes her head, reaching out a hand, and the relief that courses through her when familiar cool fingers intertwine with hers has Barnes' eyes widening, his gaze flickering between them. "Guess Steve was right," he says faintly, then touches a hand to his ear, asking, "Natalia, is the team getting close?"

A buzz from the device hooked over his ear, and T'Challa fires several shots from the advanced-looking weapon in his hands. Sam enters first, wings withdrawing into his suit, lifting his goggles, followed by Scott making them all start as he dives through the door growing. Clint throws his empty quiver into a corner, Natasha returns their weapons to the racks and Steve looks at each of them, a leader's authority in his body but a soldier's suffering in his eyes. "Let's go," he says without turning to the pilot's seat, and T'Challa starts the engine, the jet lifting from the eerily silent prison and soaring into the sky.

Conversations between the others in the jet fade into background noise, a gentle hum as Wanda blinks up into Vision's eyes. Neither of them say anything - there's so much to be said, she wouldn't know where to begin, her mind too broken to find the right words from the mess of emotion swirling like fog over her, making her feel so heavy. "Look at me," he says softly, touching his hand to her chin, holding her head high as she droops like a dying flower in the burn of the sun. "Wanda, look at me. Please."

Black crowds into the edge of her vision, obscuring the edges of the jet and the drawn, ashen faces of the other occupants, and there's a sharp edge of panic to Vision's voice as he calls for Barnes, and she hears other voices, crowding over each other like a song, as she slips away. The last colour she sees is the vibrant blue of Vision's eyes over hers, and she slumps sideways against the solid softness of the seats, surrendering her exhausted, broken body to blackness.

* * *

The world returns in white and softness. Music swirls like a gentle breeze on the air, something subtle and sweet and a little melancholy. Her every sense is firing, trying to understand where she is, searching out aches in her body, the stale air of her cell, tendrils of vague memories rising from the depths of her mind. She's not a prisoner anymore. They escaped. Natasha and Steve came back for them. Broke the bars. Tore off the restraints. Fighting. She didn't fight. Flew to the helicopter. They were worried, all of them. And she blacked out.

"Wanda?" The voice is familiar, coming from somewhere on her left. "Can you look at me? Just turn your head and look at me." She does, the message slipping from her mind through her nerves, her neck aching as her tired eyes find Steve. His face is a patchwork of bruises held together with cuts, bulging stitches over the worst and a white plaster covering his broken nose, but his eyes are kind and concerned and very blue in the whiteness. "You're awake. That's good. Do you know where you are?" She shakes her head minutely, even such a small action making pain jar through her head. "We made it to Wakanda. You passed out as we were leaving the Raft, scared us all half to death. Wasn't much we could do on the jet, none of us were trained to treat what they did to you. Bucky just kept checking your vital signs, and T'Challa had you brought here as soon as we landed. You've been sleeping for thirty-six hours."

"Miss Maximoff," comes another voice, a white-coated woman standing at the end of her bed, wearing a reassuring smile and a shine to her dark eyes, "how are you feeling?" She shrugs, and closes her eyes again, and hears the rustle of clothing, the weight of the mattress lowering. A single tear squeezes out from beneath her eyelid and slides sideways onto her pillow, and Steve's sharp intake of breath feels like a dagger to the heart. "Captain Rogers, may I speak with you?"

A hand on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and Steve quietly says, "I won't be long," and she listens to the sets of footfalls crossing the room, the quiet squeak of a door opening and closing. Her mind reaches out easily for the conversation as she lies in the white, and she hears Steve saying, "...won't leave her, they treated her so badly in the prison. Is there anything you can do?"

"The physical injuries will heal, given time," the doctor says, her calm voice at odds with the heaviness behind her words. "Her mental scars, however, there's only so much we can do to help. As you know, Captain, you have access to a therapist if your team need it. Perhaps it would benefit Miss Maximoff to see them. For now, I do think she should leave the ward and see the rest of your team. It might help her begin to recover."

Steve's presence is at her side for a long moment before he speaks, his voice quiet and so gentle. "Would you like to join us for dinner with T'Challa?" he asks, and she blinks her eyes open to look at him, their leader, with a darkness in his eyes and suffering in the stoop of his shoulders. "Informal, he's joining us as a friend, not a king. Everyone's been waiting for you to wake up."

Everyone. Steve and Natasha and Clint and Sam and Scott and Barnes and T'Challa. And _Vision_. She nods, and Steve's stoic expression splits into a smile, and he reaches out to help her sit up. But she winces when he touches her, shaking her head mutely, and he steps away respectfully, waiting as she eases herself out of bed, testing where her body is still weak and where her injuries hurt her. "You're sharing quarters with Natasha," he says, holding the door for her as they walk through a maze of corridors. "She'll be really happy you're awake."

The blood rushes from her head when she stands, making her momentarily dizzy, and Steve stands at her side, hovering as a parent would over a rambunctious toddler. Though he's familiar, a man she trusts, the thought of being touched has her skin crawling, much as she wishes it weren't so, and she holds her own weight through the intricate corridors, changing from the soothing white walls of the medical suite into something grander, more worthy of the royalty hosting them. Steve leads her to a corridor lined with dark wooden doors, handles gleaming and newly polished, and knocks on one. The door crashes open to Natasha, a gun in one hand and her eyes puffy with sleep, and her chest heaves with a sudden breath when she sees Wanda, standing unsteady and trying to give her a wan ghost of a smile. "T'Challa's dinner is in two hours," Steve tells her as Wanda stands at his side, uncertain of whether to walk into the room or not. "He's expecting us all there."

"We'll be there," Natasha assures him, and beckons Wanda into the room, her eyes filled with concern as the door closes with a soft thud behind Steve's departing back. Wanda notices her, the redness to her eyes, the shadows beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, her hair pulled messily back and the dark clothes she's wearing, and Natasha just stares at her, her fingers shaking when she raises a hand with intention to set it on Wanda's shoulder.

But Wanda flinches as Natasha's hand moves closer, and she whips her fingers back as if she's touched a flame, her eyes open with sadness. Looking around their room, the soaring ceiling and rich furnishings, she says, "Tell me what's happened," her voice faint and rough with lack of use.

"Sit down first," Natasha says, an edge of a commander's authority to her voice, and Wanda chooses a plush red armchair, watching Natasha move around the room with the guise of someone who knows the path they are on, despite the turmoil of the battles. "At the end of the fight, I attacked T'Challa to let Steve and Bucky get away - but, because of Tony's injuries, there was no time for me to get in trouble for it. After the military put you, Sam, Clint, Scott and Vision in their vans, the medical team took Tony straight to the nearest hospital with Rhodey, leaving me with T'Challa and Peter - Spiderman. Flew back to the US, met up with SHIELD. Fury had Peter escorted home and sent me to a safehouse to take me out of the eye of the media. Kept me up to date on what was happening and what the news wasn't telling us, which finally led to me finding out that Bucky was framed for the bombing in Vienna. After I came here and saw what they were doing to you, I went straight to find T'Challa, told him what was going on, and we followed Steve and Bucky to Siberia to help." Her voice dries, her eyes dropping to her crossed legs, and she swallows.

"What happened in Siberia?" Wanda prompts, and Natasha looks up at her with a gaze that appears hollow, filled with the kind of memories that keep a person awake at night.

"We arrived in time to see that Zemo had awoken one of the other winter soldiers," she says dully. "Steve was out cold, and Bucky was trying to protect him. We watched as the soldier ripped Bucky's arm off, then T'Challa jumped in and we both helped as best we could. The other winter soldiers were left in cryo - I shot them through the glass, while they were sleeping. Used the shield to try and take care of Steve. But in the end, the soldier came so close to overpowering us that we had to use Bucky's trigger words to defeat them. Then brought him back, went back to T'Challa's jet and flew back to the US. Did what we could to treat our injuries without being able to go to the hospital, then went back to the compound to salvage what we could and make some kind of plan. Rhodey came by at one point, I talked to him, he refused to forgive any of us and demanded that Steve gave back his shield, because he didn't deserve it. So we did, in exchange for him promising not to give away where we were to any of the authorities of the countries we're wanted criminals in. Made a plan, came to the Raft, and you know the rest." She takes in a shuddering breath, hands clenched tightly to hide her trembling fingers, and Wanda reaches out tentatively to take her hand, squeezing gently.

"Sounds like an interesting battle," she finally says, an attempt at humour suffering in the wake of their last few weeks, but Natasha smiles anyway. "Have they told you what happened in the Raft? To us?"

"Sounds like a lot of police brutality to me," Natasha says, her eyes flashing with fury. "I told T'Challa while we were travelling to Siberia and he was disgusted. Steve took it personally, he was the one who pushed the most for us to break you all out as soon as possible. We're very lucky that T'Challa offered us asylum here, I don't think we could've risked going back to the US and I doubt Fury would've helped us. But enough about all the awful shit that's been happening to everyone. Is there anything _you_ want to talk about?"

The look in her eyes makes it clear that she has a particular situation in mind, and Wanda stalls for time, gaze on her nails as she asks, "How is Stark?"

"Last we were told he was steadily improving, in physical therapy, and Rhodey and Pepper have been fighting for the the title of person who never leaves his side," Natasha answers blithely. "The whole world is asking why someone who was publically in support of the Accords and therefore on Tony's team would turn on him, and no one has given them an answer. We should look at some of the theories, some of them are batshit crazy." Wanda gives a faint shadow of a smile, and Natasha smiles back at her, curling their fingertips together in a gentle, subtle touch that Wanda doesn't quite want to immediately tear away from, though her heartbeat jumps and her mind flashes momentarily with the pain of electricity in her blood and the overwhelming lethargy of prison. "Do you want to talk about it? About what happened in that fight?"

"I know what happened," she says, the same way she told the agent who questioned her in the prison. "Stark targeted me, hurt me, knocked me out of flight. Vision defended me. They asked me about it in the Raft."

"And what did you say when they asked you why he did it?" Natasha asks, folding her arms over her chest in that way she always does when she's waiting for someone to answer a pressing question, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"That we've become a strong team who are protective of each other," Wanda tells her reluctantly, fingers tapping a rhythm against her thigh. "I told them that if someone on my team had tried to kill you I might've reacted the same way."

Natasha just gazes at her, staring her down, trying to breach her defenses. "You love him," she finally says, breaking the thread of silence stretching between them, and Wanda sighs, burying her head in her hands. "And he loves you. Even if he doesn't understand that and can't express it, nearly killing a teammate isn't something someone does for friendship. He could've just distracted Tony for a second and let you get away, but he didn't, he tore his suit to pieces and left him so badly injured he's still in the hospital a month and a half later. Trust me, that moment was one of the most terrifying pieces of fighting I've ever seen from someone on the side of the heroes. He loves you enough to stop logic and act in the moment, and that is something that the whole team needs to talk about."

"So they all know?" Wanda asks, voice muffled between her fingers.

"They all suspect, but Clint and I haven't told them that we know, and Vision hasn't been around the team much since we got here," Natasha tells her, and she looks up, worry spiking in her chest. "Nothing's physically wrong with him, but prison was awful for all of you. We spent so long in here after arriving getting ourselves patched up and being tutted at for our terrible attempts at setting our own broken bones and stitching up our own cuts, and he didn't need any of that, so he drifted off. He's been exploring Wakanda, I think, usually comes back very late. It's not as if he has to sleep like the rest of us."

"He feels guilty for hurting Stark," Wanda says, looking down at the backs of her hands again, the veins rising against her pale skin. "That wasn't just collateral damage like the kind the Accords want to stop. That was..."

"It was vengeance," Natasha finishes when Wanda trails into silence and a shuddering intake of breath. "Tony hurt you, Vision hurt him. That's what happens when you grow particularly close to someone. It's not a bad thing."

"Try telling someone still getting used to human emotions that," Wanda remarks, and Natasha laughs, leaning back against the dresser, an almost familiar scene. "So, how are the rest of the team?"

"You'll see at the dinner," Natasha says confidently, as if Wanda isn't broken inside and out, her mind wounded. "Come on, we'll get ready. We grabbed as much of everyone's things as we could from the compound, you'll be able to find something to wear. It's time to get out of uniforms."

Standing at the mirror as Natasha hums something vague and upbeat, Wanda watches her own reflection, the shadows of bruising on her neck and the hauntedness behind her eyes. Before, she and Natasha had so many similar moments together, preparing for press conferences and red carpet appearances and Stark Industries parties, but now everything is different. Smoothing her skirt with trembling fingers, she turns to Natasha and tries to offer a winning smile, and the way Natasha looks at her is painfully wistful. "You look beautiful," she says softly, perched on a stool to buckle her shoes. "T'Challa has been looking forward to officially meeting you."

A knock comes at the door, and Natasha stands to open it, Clint waiting in the doorway, well-dressed and apparently well-rested. His gaze lands on Wanda and his face splits into a grin. "Well hello, Sleeping Beauty," he quips, and she smiles. "I've come to escort you lovely ladies to dinner."

As Wanda walks past him, following in Natasha's footsteps, she pauses to meet his concerned eyes. "I'm okay, Clint," she promises softly, and he nods tightly, and presses his lips to her forehead in a paternal gesture that almost brings tears to her eyes, the vague memories of her own father rising from the depths of her mind.

The room they've been invited to dine in is very impressive, even with the rest of the Wakandan palace around them, and seems far too large for the small group of people there. It's frustratingly odd to see Scott and Sam out of their prison uniforms, in well-cut suits, but they both turn and smile when she walks into the room, uncertain of her place in this new group. "You're awake!" Scott says loudly, beaming at her. "That's awesome!"

Sam laughs, a real laugh without hollowness to it, and Wanda looks around at the people surrounding her. Though the smiles are small, fainter on some faces, and there's sadness in the dullness of their eyes, there's a clear atmosphere in which most are trying to cast off the scars of the last two months and look towards their future in Wakanda. Seeing Barnes for the first time, the left sleeve of his blazer hanging empty, she breathes in sharply, flicking her gaze away to avoid looking as if she's staring. "How are you feeling?" she finally asks, addressing the room at large, and looks around at the group for answers spelt out in their expressions.

"Well, we probably couldn't have asked for a more beautiful place to retreat and regroup," Sam says, gaze darting to the wide windows making up one walls, looking out onto the view of a misty jungle, dark leaves crowded together in a canopy. "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

She's silent for a moment, wondering which words to use to describe the true depths of her current state of mind without worrying her friends too much, and finally settles on, "As good as I can feel right now." Understanding is reflected on every face, and postures become more rigid as T'Challa enters the room, carrying the authority of a king.

He looks around the room, giving a respectful nod to each person, and when his gaze finds her her chest clenches with fear. It was, after all, her fault that his countrymen died in Lagos. But his eyes are warm, and he smiles and says, "Miss Maximoff, I'm glad to see that you have recovered. Our medicine is some of the best in the world, but we were all worried for you."

"Thank you for your hospitality, your highness," she says, and he smiles once again, gesturing for them to sit down, and the food is served, the conversation around the table a pleasant buzz of companionship.

"Am I to take it that your final companion will not be joining us, Captain?" T'Challa asks of Steve, and Wanda stares determinedly down at her plate, trying not to think about her last glimpse of Vision. Steve shakes his head, gaze flickering momentarily to Wanda, and T'Challa sighs. "That's unfortunate. I would've liked to speak with him about his actions in Germany."

Glancing up at that, Wanda sees the flinch in Clint and Natasha's eyes, and stands herself, walking away from the table. Despite Natasha's words, she's not ready to tell their team about the closest secret of her heart, not before she even tells Vision. She can't bear to think of how they'll look at her, how the world will react when they discover that Stark's near-death came about because of the workings of the heart. Her feet turn unbidden in the palace, and she finds herself at a balcony, the night air cool and soothing against her skin, calming her pattering heart.

Wakanda truly is a beautiful place for them to hide out, the trees soaring against the night sky, stars shining brighter than she's ever seen before above them. She searches out constellations, remembering the astronomy encyclopedia on Vision's shelf, remembers the stories behind the names told to her in the familiar voice and smiles faintly to herself. Leaning on the fencing, looking out over the land spread out beneath her, she catches a glimpse of light in the jungle - a golden light that means something to her, warmth and comfort and love, and her smile grows.

* * *

After a few weeks growing used to Wakanda, learning the intricacies of the palace they're being hosted in, spending sleepless nights waiting for the sun to rise and the mist to rise thickly from the jungle, it becomes apparent that downtime doesn't suit their team. They're all still recovering from injuries and the trauma of the fighting and the imprisonment, but it becomes more and more likely to see someone walking through the thick jungle behind the palace, to find people brooding in corners of their quarters, people made for war unable to stay still and inactive. Rain lashes at the windows as Wanda looks out over the country, turning around to see the twitchiness of her teammates, all eager to get back into the field, but unable to.

Natasha walks into the room from their quarters, newly-showered and finally looking a little more well-rested,. Seeing the group in the room, sprawled out on chairs, Clint whistling to himself and Scott practicing building something with random objects from around the room, she sighs heavily and says, "There are things we can do with our downtime other than sit around brooding, you know."

"What would you suggest?" Sam asks from his prone position on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling with his bandaged arm set awkwardly over his chest. "We can't start training until everyone's healed up."

"We don't have to train in combat to train," Natasha says, sliding into the seat next to Clint and snatching Scott's building materials from him, ignoring his indignant expression. "If we're going to be a covert team acting outside of the laws of a hundred and seventeen countries, we could use a little more training in blending in. Clint and I trained up when we joined SHIELD, but the rest of you could use lessons."

"So we're learning how to be spies?" Scott asks, a child-like shine to his eyes at the idea, and Natasha nods to him, pursing her lips in a way that means she's refraining from rolling her eyes. "Like disguises and stuff?"

"I thought we'd start with languages," Natasha says, and thuds a heavy dictionary down onto the table, ignoring Scott's faint groan. "If we're working in other countries we'll be able to blend in better if we speak the language and understand the culture. We still have time to wait before we're all ready to start combat training again, so this is where we can start."

She's still trying to teach Scott the basics of Russian when Steve walks into the room, alone, appearing strained and shadowed, and comes to Wanda's side, still careful not to touch her. "Come with me," he says softly, and she rises from her chair, nodding when Natasha turns to her with concerned eyes, and follows Steve through the maze of corridors to the medical suite, the white walls and quiet other than the gentle hum of advanced machinery. She's been visiting the suite every so often, for the doctors to look at her progress and to speak with the therapist, a kind-faced man in his mid-fifties, who never pushes for information but lets her speak, calmly listening and nodding every so often, encouraging her to go back further than the battle, to talk about Pietro and HYDRA and her parents. She's getting better, her mind clicking back together the way it was before the Raft.

Barnes is waiting in the medical suite, surrounded by the staff, and it's the first time she's seen the wreckage of his arm uncovered, making her gasp even as she tries to smother her shock. The metal is splintered, an ugly mess of what was an incredible feat of prosthetic engineering, and Barnes grits his teeth as a doctor works at the remnants, tugging twisted pieces of metal free and covering the sharp edges in a thick dark bandaging. He catches her eye, and shakes his head, looking up at Steve in a way that speaks volumes of their century-long friendship, the deepest connection no one could ever hope to match. "You're crazy, Stevie. We talked about this." He addresses Wanda, straight on, their eyes meeting and holding the gaze for possibly the first time. She vaguely remembers him trying to look after her after their escape from the Raft, when he was a mess, but those minutes are mostly darkness and confusion. "I'm going back under."

"You don't have to," Steve says, a low urgency to his voice, and looks to Wanda, her arms wrapped around herself, bruising and scars hidden beneath her thick cardigan. She's always cold, since the Raft, hears the sounds of water at her walls in the night, wakes up thinking the weight of the restraints is still on her, holding her still for their torture. "This might work."

"I made my choice when we left Siberia, I'm not changing my mind," Barnes says sternly, and Wanda looks between them, Steve turning to her with a plea in his eyes.

"It's just ten words," he says, desperation behind the calm measure of his words, and her heart lurches into her throat at the implication. "The Hulk went on a long rampage because of your powers. It's ten words."

"It's seventy years of brainwashing, Steve," Barnes corrects. "It was all HYDRA gave me, it's not like giving someone a vision to freak them out a bit. These words were part of me for years."

"That wasn't you, Buck, all those years, that was HYDRA," Steve says, and Wanda watches the two men exchange a long look with a thousand words behind it. "Wanda," his voice is gentle, his eyes kind as he looks at her, "can you help?"

She looks at him, her friend and her leader, and at Barnes, ready to sacrifice the life he's just returning to, and down at her own hands. "I can try," she finally says, and Steve nods, and Barnes sighs, watching her as she moves closer to him, stretching her fingers out to prepare. "I'm sorry," she murmurs as she stands behind Barnes, cautiously reaching out to touch him. "I know that another person in your mind isn't what you want."

Barnes just grits his teeth, and she touches her hands to the sides of his head, reaching down for the well of her power, untapped for so long, resting somewhere within her, waiting for her touch to bring it to the surface. It begins to rise like smoke in her blood, crawling slowly to the surface, red flickering faintly between the blue of her veins. She blinks and walls surround her, electricity racketing through her body as she bursts with red, the darkness pressing around her, and they don't trust her, the collar at her throat, shocking her every time she opens her mouth until she screams loud enough that they gag her too, and she's trapped in her own body. Barnes is shouting, but Steve is silent, watching her, her nails digging into Barnes' skin as she tries, her eyes burning with unshed tears, her body wracked with trembling, prison walls closing in.

"Captain Rogers!" The shout is familiar, and Steve turns, and Barnes reaches up to force her hands away from him, the red fading from her skin as she curls in on herself, shaking and shaking, sobs escaping her tightly clenched teeth. Vision lowers to the shining white floor, her first face-to-face glimpse of him since they left the Raft, an anger flashing in his eyes as his gaze flickers to her for a moment, then back to Steve. "This is not being the leader that we need in this time. You can't push people beyond their boundaries for Sergeant Barnes, he has already chosen his fate."

Barnes lays a hand on Steve's arm, preventing any argument from beginning, any rifts appearing within their small group of fugitives. "He's right, Steve," he says softly. "This is what's best for everyone. One day, there'll be a way to get all of this out of me, maybe it'll be Wakandan, maybe Wanda can try again when she's stronger. But this," he gestures vaguely at her, "is not the way to fix anything. I'm going under."

Steve sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and looks up with what appears to be a threat of tears in his eyes. "You're right, of course you're right," he says, the weight of his words heavy, and he looks to Wanda. "I'm sorry."

Vision kneels beside her, concern in his eyes, his cool fingers on her cheek, brushing a tear away, and she stands, brushing herself down and hooking her hair behind her ears, composing herself. "It's okay," she finally says, projecting strength into her voice despite the crumbling of herself, the flickering memories of prison still making her shake. "We'll leave you two alone."

Steve nods to her, respectful, and she draws her cardigan closer around herself as she leaves the room, pulling her hands into the sleeves, shrinking herself down smaller, trying to stop the shaking. "Wanda," comes the soft voice, and she turns to Vision, an unquestionable relief coursing through her with him close by. "Are you alright?"

"Where have you been?" she asks him without answering, and he looks at her with a melancholy to his eyes. "We've been here for almost a month and I haven't seen you once. Downtime is supposed to be about team bonding!"

"My apologies," he says, moving closer to her, making her heartbeat jump at their proximity. "With our friends dealing with their injuries, I've found myself with little to do in the palace. Wakanda is a beautiful country with a rich history, I've been trying to learn all I can about it. I didn't mean to make it look as if I didn't want to be around the team."

Silence holds strong for a moment, and she breaks it first, stepping close enough to set her hands on his shoulders, their eyes holding a gaze that seems to raise the temperature of the room several notches. "I know you feel guilty about what you did to Stark," she says, and his gaze breaks away from hers momentarily, "but he's recovering. Natasha says he's going through physical therapy, he has Rhodey and Pepper with him, he pulled through. And you saved my life."

"I have been trying to understand my own actions for a long time, Wanda," he says, a guardedness in his eyes. "What I did was not just an act to save someone's life, particularly not someone on the opposing team. I could have killed Mr. Stark."

"But you didn't," she says forcefully. "You didn't kill him, he's making a full recovery, and you did it to protect me. That's what we do, we protect people."

"You don't understand, Wanda, that wasn't just protecting you," he says, pressing the issue, and she smiles softly to herself. "I heard you scream and I stopped considering the consequences of my actions. He hurt you and I wanted to hurt him just as much."

"It's called vengeance, Vizh, and we've all felt it," she says reassuringly. "T'Challa chased Barnes across an ocean for it. Pietro and I joined forces with Ultron in the first place for revenge on Stark for creating the weapon that killed our parents. It's human."

They look at each other for a long moment, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, drawing their faces closer together, and he finally smiles, tight and small but still there. "I suppose it's part of becoming a closely-knit team," he says, and moves away from her, leaving her fingers tightening on thin air and the taste of disappointment in her mouth.

She glances through the windows of the medical suite to see Steve and Barnes still sitting close together, talking quietly, gaze into each other's eyes never faltering, and Vision begins to walk away before she speaks up. "The whole world wants to know why you turned on Stark when he was after me in particular. Do you know?"

He pauses and looks back at her, and there's a heavy weight of sadness in his eyes, a wistful air to his smile, her heart clenching with anticipation as their eyes meet, unsaid words seeming to fill the space between them. "I'm afraid I don't," he finally says, ending the silence.

* * *

Her birthday passes in Wakanda, marking her turning twenty, no longer a teenager. Clint and Scott try to create a celebration, enthusiasm in their bright eyes, waking her with pancakes and giving her what presents they can while they're all fugitives in a remote African nation. But, with Barnes under the ice, Steve struggling with both Barnes' decision and with his own demons and Vision still spending too little time with the team, their attempts end up in them sitting around in Wanda and Natasha's room with several empty bottles rolling around the floor, talking about their pasts with a frankness alcohol lends to them. She cries on Clint's shoulder about Pietro, missing him painfully on the day they always used to mark together, Scott tells them stories about his daughter and Clint talks about his and Natasha's early days as friends, tales Wanda has never heard before.

Natasha and Steve descend into deep discussions, their leaders, and people are finally healed enough to begin training again, as a covert group of enhanced individuals with an emphasis on stealth. They continue learning languages and researching cultures, and Clint starts teaching them about disguise and preparing a few cover stories for each of them, while Steve negotiates a place for them to train with T'Challa. The king joins them for training sessions occasionally, keeping his reflexes sharp to stay the Black Panther, and Wanda often finds herself transfixed by the way he fights, having never focused on hand-to-hand combat himself. It resembles dancing more than fighting, and watching T'Challa and Natasha spar together is a spectacle that draws all of their attention, so much so that training is always halted to watch.

But every training session poses a threat to her, any moment using her powers threatening to tip her over the edge into panic. Each time she pulls at the well of scarlet that resides deep within her, her heart skips frantically and her breath becomes short, and there's a delay as she brings herself back to reality, plants herself in the moment and works on moving small objects again, creating tiny darts of crimson energy, barely big enough to knock over the metal pins that Natasha lines up for target practice. Watching her from his perch at a balcony, obscured by Sam flying around, looking so much freer with his wings back in place, Steve's eyes are always filled with regret as he sees her struggle to regain her control, and she hates it, grits her teeth against knowing that they all look on her as someone whose abilities are waning.

Natasha starts training with her individually, practicing further hand-to-hand combat. Clint referees their sparring matches, calling out tips to her, and she begins to learn, able to hold her own against Natasha for a little longer each day. The night Natasha comes to dinner with a slight bruise on one shoulder, Scott offers Wanda a grin and a slight round of applause, and she smiles into her food, cheeks flushing when Clint gives her a thumbs up across the table. Vision joins them for more meals than he doesn't now, sitting at Wanda's side and joining in the conversations that happen around the table, whether they're about the country they're all learning more about, joining in with Scott and Sam's conversations in broken pieces of the languages Natasha keeps pushing them to use outside of lessons or weighing in on Steve's opinions of the happenings outside of their sanctuary in Wakanda. They all keep us with the news, and know a little more with T'Challa's role in international affairs - Tony left the hospital after eight weeks of physical therapy, back to Stark Tower in New York, his relationship with Pepper reestablished, and has been working with the US government to enact the Accords. The world is still searching for them, but with T'Challa's help they're yet to come close to guessing where they are.

Wakanda has been their home for six months, the spring they began their fight in changing to winter, the nights long and dark and the air colder. The palace is kept warm for them, and Wanda wakes each morning less afraid, ready to train, sparring with Natasha and working on her use of her powers under Steve's careful supervision, his understanding of when she's pushing too hard at her limits, always stopping her before she wrecks the progress she's making. Telepathy doesn't seem as terrifying, and she spends a few sessions alone with Scott, familiarising herself with his mind and learning who he is, to be able to communicate effectively with him in a fight. They begin training with simulations, and though she stays out of the fights she observes the battles through her teammates' minds, offering slight suggestions of actions when someone appears to be about to make a mistake.

It's almost seven months to the day that they arrived in Wakanda that she first joins the fight with her teammates, having spent so long working with metal pins and small objects, working up to creating bigger balls of energy that she can throw into a knot of enemies to send them flying in different directions. She works in partnerships with every one of her teammates, now no longer flinching when they touch her, using a carefully woven platform of energy to help Scott get further in his shrunken form, furthering the shot of Clint's arrows and fighting alongside Natasha, not missing the pride in her eyes. Shots come from above, a brace of generated enemies gliding on the air bearing down on them, and Steve orders the flyers to the skies. Sam and Vision both take off immediately, Clint helping them along with arrows, and Wanda clenches her fists, red welling around her fingers, and tries to push herself upwards to join the fight, determinedly ignoring the nervous tension in Natasha's body as her feet leave the ground, her progress slow but steady.

But she falters as her mind spins with memories of a metal faceplate and an outstretched arm, a bullet weaving across her side and sending her crashing to the ground, and she drops. Though she wasn't flying high at all, she watches Vision break away from a knot of enemies and dive to catch her, lowering her the last few feet to the floor and setting her down gently. She can't fail to notice Scott's hasty departure from his position a few feet to their right, leaving her to slide from Vision's arms to the ground, their eyes meeting and her finding herself unable to look away. "I'm okay," she promises, answering the concern in his eyes. "It's just too soon."

"You'll get there, I know you will," he says, squeezing her hands, and they shift momentarily closer together, their lips but an inch apart, their eye contact electric, her pulse pounding in her ears, then the moment is broken by Scott's yell as a flying adversary grabs him, and Vision turns away from her, cape swirling, and soars off to help their teammate.

When the training comes to an end, the simulation fading, Steve is smiling for once, removing his helmet and nodding around their circle. "Your progress is excellent," he says to them all. "Especially with hand-to-hand combat. Hit the showers and go to bed, it's late. We'll take a few days off from physical training sessions, concentrate on languages." Scott quietly pumps his fist in victory, and Wanda smiles fondly at him, forever keeping their spirits up.

Natasha is absorbed in a book when Wanda steps out of their bathroom, curled beneath her blankets, and she leaves her with a smile to climb onto the flat section of roof over their bedrooms, looking out over the dark mass of the jungle, the moon high and full in the sky, silvering the obsidian panther statues that guard the gates. The night air is refreshing after the training session, whispering gently against her face and neck, and she curls up cross-legged, admiring the view that she still isn't tired of, barely shivering despite the cold night.

Another presence comes across her mind, familiar, and she looks back over the roof to see Vision coming to join her, wearing a thick plaid sweater, folding himself down next to her, their legs swinging aimlessly over the edge of the roof. "You did well in training today," he says softly, setting a hand gently over her knee, and she smiles up at him, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about the falling. You'll get there."

"I know," she says, and lifts a hand, the red flickering like ripples over her fingers. "Thank you for catching me. You really didn't have to, I would've been fine."

"I wanted to," he says, voice quiet enough that only she can hear, leaning in closer, weaving his fingers in between hers, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You asked me why I attacked Mr. Stark in Germany, and it's because I feel very...protective of you, Wanda. When I see you in a fight, I want to make sure that you are okay every minute of it, and I couldn't stop feeling that because we were on opposite teams."

"I can take care of myself, Vizh," she says, though there's a warmth to her voice.

"I know that," he says, appearing to be struggling with himself, forehead creasing with worry. "And it's the fact that I know that but still want to care for you that confuses me. I have been thinking about it while we've been living here, and while we were in the Raft, and I think I have come to understand what that feeling entails." He breathes in sharply, and meets her eyes, his own so serious, and her heart catches in her throat, hope blooming warm in her heart and the burn of tears at the back of her throat. "I am in love with you, Wanda Maximoff."

The words hang in the air between them, and the tears swell up in her throat and spill over, sliding down her cheeks, silvered by the moonlight. Vision squeezes her hand tighter, cupping a hand to her cheek and trying to wipe the tears away faster than they fall, concerned. "Wanda, I was under the impression that telling you this would be a happy moment," he says, and she laughs wetly through her tears. "Have I made a mistake? Do you not return these feelings?"

"These are happy tears, Vizh," she says, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I've loved you since before our first Christmas at the compound, and I am just so happy that you feel the same way." She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and leans closer to her, his hand pressing harder against her cheek, their fingers tightly intertwined, and their lips meet in a kiss almost two years in the making. And, as much as she hates that she's surrendering to the clichés of every romantic film or novel she's been exposed to throughout her life, she really does see fireworks. Vision's lips are warmer than she might have expected, tentative against her own, his fingers running gently through her hair, and when he breaks the kiss they smile into each other's eyes

"I believe I've loved you since the moment we met," he says, and she laughs softly, running her fingers in caressing circles over the back of his hand. "Your hair was darker then, and you were sharper at the edges. I think that I loved you before I understood what love is." She kisses him again, giddy with the joy of the moment, and he looks almost shy when she pulls away. "I apologise if this is not what you've dreamed of. I've never actually kissed anyone before."

"Well, all it takes is practice," she says sweetly, and leans in again, his answer wrapping an arm around her to pull her in, the chill of the night chased away by their closeness, the minutes sliding away in soft, sweet kisses, shy smiles and whispered words that mean everything.

Walking back to their quarters means holding hands, violently aware of each other's presence, and she pauses outside the door to her and Natasha's room, Vision smiling down at her, making her cheeks flush with colour. "I will see you in the morning, love," he murmurs, and kisses her once more, hands fitted to her waist, drawing her against him.

She opens the door with a dreamy smile on her kiss-swollen lips, and starts when she's greeted by a proclamation of, "And what kind of time do you call _this_ , young lady?!" Natasha, Clint, Sam and Scott are all sprawled in various positions around the room, holding half-empty bottles, with distinct expressions telling her they've already emptied a few. She rolls her eyes, a fond smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, and hangs up her cardigan, climbing onto her bed and looking around the room at her friends.

"I wasn't aware we were hosting a party in our room tonight, Nat," she says lightly, unable to put any hint of a bite to her words, her heart still speeding at the memories she'll treasure forever, their perfect night.

"I saw you go up to the roof and Vision follow you, so I had to gather everyone to talk about it!" Scott declares, waving his bottle to emphasise his point, and she smothers a laugh at his behaviour. "I would ask what happened up there, but I am training in being a spy and knowing about body language, and everything I need to know is written all over your face." He takes another swig, and adds, "Also your lips are swollen."

"So," Clint says, leaning up on his elbow and smothering a hiccup, "was it everything you've ever dreamed of? Did you fall into each other's arms to make confessions of undying love while violin music played and rose petals rained from the sky?"

A wicked smirk turning up one corner of her mouth, Wanda looks at the eager faces of her friends and says, "Actually we just talked about the training sessions."

"Bull _shit_!" Scott declares dramatically, and she can't swallow her laughter this time. "You can't lie to us. We're spies. We know when people are lying."

It's Natasha who sits up now, setting her bottle between her thighs and affecting a serious expression. "Okay, but without these idiots asking stupid questions," she ignores the high-pitched offended noise that Scott makes, "what happened up there? Was it what you wanted?"

Curling her fingers into the hem of her skirt, Wanda smiles and answers, "It was everything I wanted. He loves me and I love him."

"Well that's adorable," Sam remarks, and she grins at him, perhaps the brightest she's smiled in a very long time. "So who gets to tell Steve in the morning?" The clamour of noise from the men covers Natasha beaming at Wanda, reaching over to take her hand and squeeze it tightly, mouthing _I'm so happy for you_.

* * *

The night sky is black behind the windows as Wanda stirs slightly, the weight of an arm over her side familiar. Her head is clear, not spinning with the aftermath of a bad dream, and she turns onto her back to find Vision watching her, a pure tenderness in his gaze that she'll be happy to wake up to every morning for the rest of her life. "It's the middle of the night," he says quietly. "Go back to sleep. Your alarm won't sound for another two hours." His brows lower in concern, and there's an urgency to his words as he asks, "Did you have a nightmare?"

"No, no, I'm fine," she says, and lets their eyes meet, smiling up into his eyes. "I'm perfect." He returns her smile, and leans down to kiss her, waking her up fully as her heartbeat picks up speed, curling her hand against the back of his neck to draw him closer.

"I'm not asleep, you know," comes Natasha's voice, muffled beneath her blankets and groggy with sleepiness. "But by all means, continue kissing, it's so lovely to listen to that at five o'clock in the morning."

"I'm glad you think so, Miss Romanoff," Vision remarks, and Wanda giggles at him, drawing him in for another kiss. Then they're startled apart by a pounding on their door, Natasha jerking upright with her hair in a tangled cloud around her face, Vision moving away from Wanda and out of her bed as she reaches for the light, blinking against the brightness.

"I want everyone suited up and in the training centre in ten minutes!" comes Steve's bellow through the door, and Natasha groans faintly, collapsing back against her pillows. "Come on, up! Crime doesn't have a regular schedule and neither will we!"

"Fuck you, Steve!" comes a shout that sounds distinctly like Clint, and Wanda senses the satisfaction in Steve's mind, smiling to herself as she gets out of bed, tugging on the first clothes she finds and walking with Vision to the training centre, waiting for the rest of the team to make their way there, grumbling threats under their breath.

It's still early enough that most of their group is bleary-eyed and puffy with sleep, only Steve and T'Challa appearing truly awake. Steve is wielding the new shield gifted to him by Wakanda, bands of black and white rather than red, white and blue, a red star at its centre. Scott's head drifts down to his chest, his eyes slipping closed, and Wanda tugs sharply at his shirt to jerk him awake again, trying to pay attention to Steve's speech. "Natasha, T'Challa, Scott, Clint and myself will be practicing our ground work," he's saying, with nods to each person as he says their name, Clint mumbling vaguely in response and Scott staring straight ahead with dead eyes. "Sam, Vision, I want both of you practicing aerial combat."

His face is a mask of sincerity as he turns to Wanda, her fingers linked tightly with Vision's, and says, "I want you to try flying again, Wanda. I know that you've been having trouble with it, but this is a controlled environment. If you can't do it, that's fine, you can be part of the ground team for as long as you need to be." She gazes at him for a moment, feeling the long-healed curved scar on her side itching again, but she shakes that feeling off and nods.

Vision kisses her cheek before he prepares to fly, murmuring, "I'll be waiting for you," and setting off to join Sam in the air as Clint prepares an arrow and the simulation settles around them, the counter beginning at ten seconds before their enemies emerge, the adrenaline of fighting settling in Wanda's body despite the early hour.

Watching the two men circling above her, waiting for the enemies to come pouring from the walls, Wanda pulls at the power within her, red gathering in spheres beneath her palms. Steve is watching her closely, she can feel the sharp awareness of all of her teammates, and she continues to push the power down into her hands and feet, the air moving around her as she begins to rise. Her mind threatens her with memories, fear curling like a serpent, but she pushes it away, focuses on rising, and soon she's as high as Sam, enemies crawling up the walls towards them, and his face splits into a proud grin.

She holds herself in flight for thirty seconds, a minute, and doesn't falter, the scarlet spheres beneath her hands spinning gently, and Vision flies to her side, smiling at her. "You did it," he says softly, and she beams at him, and he pulls her in for a kiss, the two of them floating on the air as she wraps her arms around him and presses herself closer. Scott wolf-whistles shrilly somewhere below them and the dull sound of a hit is most likely from Natasha, if his yelp is anything to judge by.

"Alright, you two, cut it out," comes Steve's voice through the comms, half-irritated and half-fond. "This is a training exercise, not an excuse for you two kissing." With one last gentle press of her lips to his, Wanda pulls away from Vision, enjoying the way his eyes stay closed, lingering in the moment, and moves into a knot of simulated enemies, her eyes glowing red as she blasts them apart.

The sessions finishes around seven o'clock, and Steve watches the three fliers hit the ground again with undeniable pride shining in his eyes, sheathing his shield and crossing immediately to pull Wanda into a hug. "I'm so proud of you," he says, and she can feel herself lighting up at the praise, the knowledge that she can finally do what she used to, leaving the shadows behind and moving into the light.

Ringing makes them all start, and Natasha wraps her towel around her neck and heads for the source of the noise, pulling an ancient-looking flip phone from the backpack in the corner of the room and holding it out to Steve. "You know who it is," she says, and Steve snatches it from her hands, pressing it tightly to his ear and holding up a hand to keep them all quiet.

He finally snaps the phone shut, facing away from them, and the moment holds in silence, a tensed breath. Then he turns around, smiling, and says, "Hit the showers and be in the dining room in the next hour. We're expecting a visitor."

They rush through their morning routines, Natasha obviously unsettled as she stands at her closet in her robe, and when they reach the dining room Steve is already there, pacing back and forth across the place, T'Challa watching him with guarded eyes. Vision finds Wanda immediately, kissing her temple and taking her hand, and she can feel his nervousness, squeezing his hand reassuringly as they wait, the thoughts of her friends crowded with worry.

When the doors open, two familiar men stand there, both standing as tall as they did before any of the long chain of events that led to this moment in the light of the sunrise began, and Tony Stark's gaze falls across each of them before he opens his mouth to speak. "I'm here to talk to you about the Avengers initiative."

* * *

 **A/N:** For anyone who has a tumblr, this fic is available for reblog [here](http://chriscolfuck.tumblr.com/post/145353119431/fic-two-paper-airplanes-flying-wandavision) if you enjoyed it enough to consider doing so! :)


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